


ocelotte

by bombcollar



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Child Neglect, Gen, Mild Gore, he's ok though don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 07:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14039067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombcollar/pseuds/bombcollar
Summary: Oceiros is dead, but something has been left behind.





	ocelotte

It takes them both a while to realize the howling has stopped. The daily cries from the eastern wing of the castle, where their father’s garden was located, where Oceiros had made his lair. Neither Lorian nor Lothric knew fully what had become of him, but it was clear from the sounds he made that his mutation had only progressed. Once a king, he squatted like a beast in a collapsed part of the castle.

Until now. The garden, fallen silent. Had some undead managed to get in and finally put an end to his misery? Had he simply collapsed, his organs failing as his body further disintegrated? The two of them agreed, they had to go see, just to be sure he was finally dead.

* * *

 Lothric keeps watch from atop a raised platform to the side of the circular courtyard as Lorian sloshes through the sunken platform near the stairs leading down into their father’s lair. The bulky knights guarding the area ignore him, either uncaring or unaware of his presence, or the fact that their master was likely dead. Lorian would have to be quick; Lothric couldn’t stay here for long, neither of them could with the fumes filling the air, rendering the area gray and hazy as the toxic plant life decayed. He can hear Lothric coughing as he descends, feels that tug of anxiousness as they disappear from one another’s view, like a fish hook in his flesh. The curse that kept them together physically as well as spiritually. He could not leave his brother’s side for long.

Frigid water pools around his legs and wrists as he reaches the bottom of the stairway. Inside lies a dilapidated stone chamber, its roof partially collapsed, plants and moss growing where shafts of weak sunlight fell through. Something vast and slimy lies crumpled against the rubble, all angular, broken limbs. Pale feathers litter the floor, as long as his hand. The smell is abominable, burning the back of his throat with the stench of ammonia, stagnant water and rotting flesh.

Oceiros’ body is barely recognizable as something once living. Little more than black and blue slime strung over bones, though Lorian can make out a draconic silhouette. A long snout, horns, wings and a tail. Dead, that much is plain to see. He couldn’t linger here, Lothric needed to know.  
As he turns to leave, he hears something. A soft groan, something moving weakly beneath the mantle of Oceiros’ decaying flesh. Lorian wipes the slime away, his heart sinking as he reveals what’s beneath. A child, an infant… Cold, barely moving. He carefully picks the child up, reminded of his very first meeting with his brother, likewise so small and feeble. He holds them in his palm, lumbering back towards the entrance as quickly as he can, his knees already aching from crawling about on uneven stone, praying they were not too late.

* * *

 It turns out the child is similar to Lothric in more ways than his frailty. Tiny wings sprout from his shoulders, scales dot his back and limbs, he even has a tail… Nearly a perfect clone, though his features seem more complete, not haphazardly affixed to his body like Lothric’s. Lorian’s torn a section of the bedsheet to wrap him in, now that they’ve managed to clean him off, cradling him against his chest.

“What can we do?” Lothric asks. “We haven’t got anything to feed him. We barely have water…” All dragons, even the palest imitations, were immortal to a degree. This child of dragons would have surely died of exposure or hunger if not for his blood. It was the only reason Lothric had survived as well, bound to a body that simply refused to expire, no matter how ill he became. He takes the child’s little hand, with its little claws curled limp against his chest, murmuring, “He’s our brother…”

Lorian looks towards the front of the hall, the heavy doors closed and barred, but for how long? They were not safe here themselves, but perhaps one of the lordseekers would take pity on a child. Or, perhaps they would leave him here, alone in this crumbling castle, with only their corpses for company. Lorian brushes the child’s fine hair with his thumb, lifting him up to kiss his forehead. The scent of decay still clings to him. The last of their father's sins. Now it was up to them to make things right, to ensure this child grew up loved in whatever new age awaited them.


End file.
